The Distances Between
by BitterEloquence
Summary: IDW: Prowl and Springer: Two very different sides to the same coin. What happens when they stop trying to tear into one another and discover how small the distance is between love and hate? Prowl/Springer. Written for the tformers100: War Table on LJ
1. Chapter One: The Smallest Victory

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within, nor am I making any money off of this story. All I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head.

Notes: This is written for the tformers100 community on LJ's 'War' Table. It's pre-slash for now but will eventually move onto a rather dysfunctional affair between our favorite emotionally messed up mechs.

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><p>He really hated Springer.<p>

Everything about the mech got under his plating. His smug smile, cavalier flaunting of all of Prowl's carefully planned strategies and protocols. He hate Springer's poisonous influence on the troops and the fact that the stupid sons of glitches wanted to _emulate_ him! He was inspiring rash kids like Hot Rod into traveling down the same disastrous path Springer walked.

That was the most galling.

Prowl could handle him flagrantly ignoring his orders and strategies but encouraging other mechs to act just as unprofessional as Springer himself was just pushing things too far.

Take this evening for example.

Prowl was sitting in the commissary trying to enjoy a quiet cube of energon when Springer and his unruly bunch of Wreckers came stumbling in. The strategist could tell they'd been indulging themselves by the unsteadiness of their gait and the sheer volume of their voices as they shouted over one another.

Springer and Hot Rod _appeared_ to be in a contest to see who could be the loudest.

"No, I'm telling you it was the best assignment I ever had! Lots of friendly company, the energon was flowing and not a thing to do but kick back and shuttle a few VIPs around."

"Yeah right, pull the other one while you're at it." Hot Rod scoffed loudly.

Sitting at his table, Prowl felt every tensor cable in his shoulders go tense. A frown tugged at his lip components though he made a valiant effort to ignore the loud mechs.

"You sayin' you don't believe me? Oh, yea of so little faith, Roddy!"

"I'm saying you're prone to shall we say…embellishing a story?"

"I'll show you embellishing." Springer laughingly threatened while swinging his arm around Hot Rod's shoulder. "How's about I embellish you?"

The Wrecker rubbed his plating against the brightly covered mech and left behind garishly colored patches of green against Hot Rod's primary coloring.

"Hey, watch the paint!"

"I think it improves the look, don't you?" Springer asked an exasperated looking Blaster.

"Oh no, you aren't getting me in the middle of that. Besides, I happen to _like_red." Blaster teased with a grin.

Shaking his head in obvious exasperation, Springer scuffed up Hot Rod's helm as well. "I swear, I'm surrounded by mechs with no taste."

Hot Rod just shoved at Springer and did his damndest to get away from the taller mech before he ended up with half of Springer's paint job on him. "Let go, Springer. Ow, watch it."

"Springer, let him go." In contrast to the Wrecker's raucous noise, Prowl's quietly uttered command should have gone unnoticed and unheard. Instead, in the wake of that order, a tense sort of silence fell over the mechs as Springer turned his attention to Prowl.

As usual, a cold sort of gleam entered the triplechanger's optics when he looked at Prowl. Even his rough treatment of Hot Rod stilled until he was standing there hanging off the young mech at a ridiculous angle.

"This isn't any of your business, Prowl." Springer said frostily as the unfriendly test of wills between the two mechs continued.

Poor Hot Rod looked like he wanted to be anywhere but between the two mechs.

"I realize you don't understand the meaning of _fun_ but this is what mechs who actually have friends do on their off time."

Prowl just granted Springer a patently maddeningly bland look guaranteed to get under the Wrecker's plating. "All I see is an officer accosting on a subordinate in front of me."

"You gonna quote regs at me now? Besides, you don't hear Roddy crying out for help so I'd hardly call this 'accosting' him. Right, Roddy?"

"Right…." Visibly uncomfortable, the young mech repeated Springer's words back to him. "We err….we're just playing around, Prowl. No harm, no foul." This time, he was able to shove off Springer's arm relatively easy. The gathered group of mechs tried not to shuffle as the tenseness of the air gathered.

Desperate to change the subject, Hot Rod immediately seized upon the first thing that popped into his processor.

"So uh-Blaster! You were telling me about that new mix tape you were putting together?"

Thankfully, Blaster seemed to catch his drift and started in on a rambling explanation of his latest foray into the music world.

Not so willing to let things go and apparently itching for a fight, Springer stalked over to Prowl's table.

"You have no right to interfere with our down time." The triblechanger growled.

"It's my duty to interfere if the situation warrants it."

"That's a load of slag and we both know it. Just because you don't like me doesn't give you the right to pick on Roddy like that."

There was the most subtle of twitches in Prowl's doors that betrayed his temper.

"From where I'm sitting the only one picking on Hot Rod was you."

Anger darkened Springer's faceplates. "You don't have the faintest clue what's going on. You sit there with your datapads and your unemotional strategies and completely forget about all those pesky emotional attachments regular mechs have."

Prowl knew the best way to combat Springer's anger was to reply in kind with cool detachment and he had the pleasure of watching the triplechanger's faceplates twist with impotent rage when he didn't flare up back at him.

"Are you finished?" That galling question was murmured coolly. "I would have thought even you better than weak and ineffectual insults. If you're done wasting my time I have work to do."

For once, it actually looked like an argument was going to be won by him! Petty perhaps but Prowl didn't have Springer's skill for verbal jousting and their arguments usually left him feeling as though he'd been vocally walked all over by the Wrecker.

"Yeah well, once again? You don't know slag about anything, Prowl. Stick to your datapads Or better yet, shove them up your aft." With one last sneer, the triplechanger turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Hey, Springer! Wait up, I thought we were going to party!" Hot Rod called after the Wrecker.

"No way can I party with a mood-killer like that fragger around." Springer barked over his shoulder. "I need some air."

Feeling the Wreckers and Springer's cohorts less than friendly looks centering on him, Prowl was left with the disconcerting feeling that this latest verbal joust had not been much of a victory at all.

His suspicion was only further proved as the various mechs shuffled out of the commissary after the triplechanger.

Well, at least it was quiet.

And with that severe thought, the tactician turned his attention back to where it belonged in the datspad held tightly in his hands.


	2. Chapter Two: Lashing Out

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within, nor am I making any money off of this story. All I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head.

Notes: This is written for the tformers100 community on LJ's 'War' Table. It's pre-slash for now but will eventually move onto a rather dysfunctional affair between our favorite emotionally messed up mechs.

Thanks for WyntirRose for beta'ing and an additional thanks to everyone who has reviewed this puppy and for showing your love for this broken!pairing.

-El

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><p>Springer wasn't the type of mech to dwell overly long over self-reflection or regrets. Second-guessing yourself was deadly on the field of battle and he'd seen more than his fair share of mechs meet a nasty end because their head wasn't in the game.<p>

Whenever he stayed still overly long, all of his inner demons seemed to creep up on him and surround him in a dark cloud of anguish and self-recrimination.

He finally slunk off to the commissary in search of some energon and hoped that if he got overcharged, maybe that would knock him out.

And that's how Prowl found him a few cycles and a few cubes later.

He was dead on his feet and all he really wanted to do was go collapse in his berth. Unfortunately that was about when his systems chimed yet another warning about low fuel levels. Temping though it might be to collapse in his berth, the last thing Ratchet needed was another mech in medical. Stifling a sigh, he turned towards the commissary.

The dejected sight of Springer was enough to clear some of the exhausted haze from his processor and Prowl found himself stiffening unconsciously.

"Come to harangue me for my latest set of breech of protocol or maybe jaywalking this time?" Springer muttered without taking his optics off of the energon he was lazily swirling around in its container.

"You're overcharged," Prowl stated coolly.

"Wow, your powers of observation are _astounding! _" Springer was not adverse to the idea of picking another fight with Prowl. At least if he was fighting with the emotionally stunted tactician, maybe he wouldn't feel so piss poor about everything else.

"It's no wonder you've risen to the upper echelons of the Autobot army with a processor that quick, Prowl. Any other blatantly obvious things you want to point out there while you're at it?" When he finally did looked up, Springer pinned Prowl with an unfriendly look that was uncomfortable in its intensity.

Prowl was used to getting glared and snarled at by the Wrecker but he was not used to seeing such a tumult of indistinguishable emotions on the triplechanger's faceplates. Springer was in pain and even a mech as emotionally dense as Prowl could see it. He wasn't the type to let such emotion sway him but even he could read that agony in Springer's optics.

And so, fighting down his own irritation and desperate need for energon, Prowl walked over to where Springer was seated and pried the cube away from the intoxicated Wrecker.

"Get offa me." Springer was less than willing to be parted from his energon and tried to hold onto it. Unfortunately, with his already compromised coordination, most of it ended up spilling across the table and over their wresting hands.

"Get up," the tactician ordered coldly.

"Gonna take me to the brig, Prowlie?"

Thoroughly offended by that nickname, Prowl reached down and hauled Springer up bodily only to nearly stumbled under the weight of the limp and uncooperative Wrecker.

It was perhaps a testament to just how overcharged the triplechanger was that he didn't even fight as the black and white mech pulled him unsteadily to his feet. Springer's head lolled about gracelessly as he offered Prowl a snarky look.

"Haul me off, officer." The drunken Wrecker even offered his wrists with something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"I fail to see how this is amusing." Prowl left the overturned cube and askew chair where they were as he gingerly tried to move Springer without actually touching him. That lasted all of two steps before the drunken triplechanger ended up careening into him as he took a tremulous step forward.

"Whoa..." Springer's arms flailed for balance and with a grumpy look, Prowl wrapped an arm around the Wrecker's waist to hold him up. "Always knew you were a perv. Gropin' mechs when they're overcharged. 'M gonna report you."

"Don't tempt me or I'll drop you on your aft and drag you," Prowl threatened with a growl.

"Yes,sir, Prowl, sir!" Springer taunted openly. It was about that time that his already churning tanks gurgled threateningly. "Hyurk."

"You purge on me and I _will_shoot you, Springer."

"I ain't exactly happy about this situation either," The triplechanger muttered, head hanging limply against Prowl's shoulder armor as he tried to think of anything but purging his tanks all over the bastard.

Truth be told, Springer was halfway tempted to do so just to mess with the tactician but knew Prowl wouldn't hesitate to shoot him just as he threatened. So better sensibilities won out and he just held onto Prowl grimly.

"This ain't the way to the brig," Springer pointed out oh so intelligently as Prowl headed down the hallway leading to the quarters he'd been assigned

"We don't_ have _a brig here. I'm going to take you to your quarters and you're going to sober up. This kind of behavior will not be tolerated, Springer."

"Blow it out your tailpipe," the triplechanger muttered bitterly.

"I will not, nor will I let this go. This is a disgrace. Do you really think you're the only officer who's ever lost men?" Genuine frustration colored Prowl's tone as he glowered at the overcharged mech. "We can't afford to have our officers turn into a sniveling wreck every time a mission goes bad."

"Frag you, Prowl!" Incensed, Springer shoved away from the black and white mech.

"You don't know what the frag is going on. Unlike you, I actually _mourn_the mechs I send out to die."

"I've had about all I can stand of you implying I'm nothing more than an emotionless automaton." He knew better than to rise to the bait but those words stung a little more than Prowl had expected.

"Yes, I've sent mechs to their deaths. I've sent hundreds of mechs to their deaths over the course of this war but you don't see me getting overcharged and _sloppy_because of it." Prowl's battle processor told him there was a 63.5% chance his words would push Springer to violence. Sure enough the drunken Wrecker hauled off and tried to punch him but Prowl was expecting it.

Unlike the triplechanger, he wasn't overcharged and easily ducked Springer's fist before going on the offensive and pinning the wobbly Wrecker to the wall.

"Stop it!" Prowl bit out dangerously "If you keep this up I'll have no choice but to throw you in the brig and then where will your crew be?"

The furious words had a chilling effect on Springer.

"You said you didn't have a brig in this outfit."

"For you, I'll figure something out," Prowl growled testily. "Now, are you going to act like a grown mech?"

Seething anger vibrated through Springer's frame but Prowl's threat weighed more on his mind than any fleeting pleasure that might come from punching the smug son of a glitch in the face.

Slowly, the fury drained from the Wrecker's faceplates.

Prowl relaxed his hold on the mech and took a judicious step back.

"Primus, I hate you…" Springer muttered under his breath.

"Hate me all you want, just so long as you stop this ridiculous acting out," Prowl said stonily. "Come on, we're almost there."

Shaking his head in disgust, the tactician looped Springer's arm around his shoulders again and continued to half lead, half carry the triplechanger to his quarters. He ran into a bit of a snag however when Prowl discovered the door was locked.

"Put in your code."

"Look away," came that oh so mature response.

"Springer, I don't need to 'steal' the codes to your door. If I wanted to break into your quarters, I have the slagging override code." Aggravated at the whole situation; Prowl bit back on his anger sharply. Judging by the high sweep of his doors, the tactician's leash on that infamous temper was swiftly slipping. "Just put the slagging code in so we can end this farce."

It took Springer five attempts to input the correct code and by that time, Prowl's already depleted patience was at an end. He half hurled the triplechanger onto the berth. Springer made no move to resituate himself where he lay there half on the berth.

Fighting back irritation, Prowl stalked over to the berth and hauled Springer's legs up onto it as well so the slagger wouldn't fall off.

"I killed them…." The quiet words stopped Prowl cold.

"You made a decision," he said, not completely sparkless. "Whether it was the right decision..." Prowl trailed off meaningfully. "That will be decided in time."

"Yeah..." The overcharged triplechanger sounded less than sure about that.

"Every commander loses soldiers, Springer. It comes with the territory." Prowl knew his own short comings and knew he was not the mech to try and give a pep-talk or discuss battlefield ethics with.

"What makes you a good commander is that you still care about the fact that mechs are dying under your orders. It's when the losses become acceptable losses that you start to worry about whether or not you've lost your Spark and stepped over that line."

From the berth, Springer laughed bitterly and pushed himself upright on one elbow.

"_You_talking to me about acceptable losses is just hilarious. You'd probably sell out Prime if it meant taking out Megatron and winning this war. Because that's all that matters to you in the end; isn't it, Prowl?" he taunted with a nasty laugh.

Black rage twisted Prowl's faceplates into an ugly mask and before he was even consciously aware of it he'd closed the distance between them and punched the gloating triplechanger in the faceplates.

Springer's head snapped back and he ended up flat on the berth again with a resounding clang.

"You son of a glitch…" Prowl's voice actually trembled with the repressed rage as his emotional protocols tried to bypass his higher logic centers and battle computer. If he'd been thinking straight, Prowl would have admitted how _satisfying_it had been to plow his fist into Springer's face and was sorely tempted to do so again.

"Heh, guess I deserved that one," Springer muttered wryly while dabbing at his split lip components. Who knew Prowl actually could throw a punch? Springer would have bet good credits that the tactician hit like a femme.

Prowl backed away with a snarl and when his spoke, his voice was as cold and merciless as space. "I expect to see you on morning watch. If you're not there, I'll toss you out the airlock."

Turning on his heel, the tactician stalked out the door.

Dull realization sank in as Springer watched the upswept angle of Prowl's visibly vibrating doors exit his quarters. Even he knew he'd stepped over the line with that particular salvo.

"Frag…." His helm clanged against the berth again as a sick sort of feeling churned through his tanks. "Oh, frag…."

That was all the warning he got before the overpowering urge to purge his tanks overtook him. Springer scrambled desperately off of the berth in search of some kind of receptacle but found none on hand.

His gyroscopes spun wildly with his suddenly and jarring movements before the plating came rushing up to greet him and his tanks began to purge.

Groaning, Springer tried to get his bearings before finally just giving up the fight and just laying down on the floor heedless of the half-processed energon pooling around his prone frame.

"What a night…."


	3. Chapter Three: Day Old Slag

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within, nor am I making any money off of this story. All I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head.

Notes: This is written for the tformers100 community on LJ's 'War' Table prompt: Surrender

Thanks for WyntirRose for beta'ing and an additional thanks to everyone who has reviewed this puppy and for showing your love for this broken!pairing.

-El

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><p>Springer came back online feeling like day old slag.<p>

The fact that he was lying in a pool of half-processed, rank smelling energon certainly didn't help matters any. Grimacing, the triplechanger heaved himself over onto his back and out of the energon.

"Primus…" he whimpered. Then, Springer saw the time on his chronometer and knew he was fragged.

"Son of a glitch!" the Triplechanger yelped and scrambled to his feet. He was late and Springer didn't put it past Prowl to really toss him out of the airlock. Grabbing a cleaning rag, the chopper wiped himself down but could tell with a sniff that the reek of stale energon was going to cling till him until he took a shower.

Unfortunately, he had no time to get properly cleaned and so, with a muffled curse, Springer tossed the rag aside and took off at a sprint for the command desk.

Seeing as how his day was going, Springer wasn't all too surprised to see Prowl hovering over Hot Rod's shoulder.

And because the universe seemed to hate him, the tactician chose that moment to look up and pin him with an utterly unfriendly look.

"You're late."

"Uh…yeah, sorry." He couldn't quite bring himself to meet Prowl's optics.

"Get to your station," Prowl said brusquely before moving away from Hot Rod's station—much to Hot Rod's visible relief.

Springer nodded curtly and took his seat at the station next to Hot Rod.

"He's in a mood." His friend whispered de sotto.

"He's always in a mood," Springer muttered. He adjusted the sensors on his station more to his liking but was finding it woefully hard to concentrate.

"You okay?" Hot Rod glanced around for Prowl's looming presence before turning to look at Springer closely. "You look like slag, something happen?"

The triplechanger frowned at his screen. "Just a long night is all."

"Hot Rod, have you picked up in movement in sector 42?" Prowl's cool tone had the young mech jumping guiltily.

"Uh..No, sir. Not yet, at least."

"Keep your optics on the screen, please."

"Yes, sir." Hot Rod sagged a little as Prowl moved back to his own place near the flight console.

Springer cycled his optics tiredly but it did little to help the exhausted feeling that came with recovery from overindulging in energon.

"What's that smell?" Hot Rod asked abruptly. "Smells like rancid energon."

The Wrecker had to fight the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"Springer." Who would have ever thought the sound of his name coming from Prowl's mouth would ever be a reprieve? "I need to talk to you."

"Be right back," Springer whispered as he climbed out of his chair and approached Prowl's station. "

Judging by the frosty look in Prowl's optics, Springer didn't think he'd quite forgotten or forgiven what he'd said the night before.

"Prowl, look, I need to apologize."

"If you cannot see fit to be on time or keep your attention on your duties then I don't want you on my bridge." Prowl just walked all over Springer's apology without a beat.

Contrition was quickly being replaced by irritation.

"Listen to me, I said—"

"I don't care." Those brusque words stopped Springer in his tracks. "If all you're going to do is gossip with Hot Rod and are incapable of concentrating, I want you off the bridge."

"Prowl—"

"Report to medical for a check-up since you're obviously unwell."

"You know, you're a real pit spawn."

"That will be all, Springer." Prowl's tone brooked no argument.

With an inarticulate sound of frustration, Springer turned on his heel and stalked off the bridge and surrendered this battle of the wills.

And that's how things would go between them for vorns. Their relationship was marked with barely leashed antagonism, acidic words and spectacular arguments whenever Springer took issue with Prowl's latest plan.

Those around them would remark about how adept one was in getting under the other's plating. Prowl, who was normally a very cool and collected mech, always seemed to get agitated and short at just the mention of the word 'Springer'.

As for Springer, Prowl always seemed to know just the right buttons to push when it came to the Wrecker.

It was probably for the best that neither one saw each other for a few dozen stellar cycles while the Wreckers were out performing their duties.

They finally met on Cybertron when the two split factions met up. There was a miniature celebration as old friends and new acquaintances got to know one another even under the grim auspices of their shared exile on Cybertron.

Prowl found he couldn't really morally object to the festivities. Primus knew they all needed a bit of a morale boost and truth be told he was sick of haunting Ratchet's med-bay waiting for news Prime. So instead, the prickly second found himself a table to share with Jazz and Kup and listened with half an audio as the two exchanged war stories.

It really wasn't to his particular tastes but Kup had produced a few cubes of what proved to be very nicely mixed high grade so Prowl didn't mind sitting through a few bloody stories.

"Ha! I'll bet they never saw that coming," Jazz snorted.

Smiling a little slyly, Kup just took another drag off his cy-gar. "Well, they were never th' brightest of stars we'll just say. Kinda like taking energon candy from a Sparkling."

"Heh, I bet Prowl here wouldn't agree with that but he's a by the rules kinda mech."

"Hardly," the tactician interjected mildly. "I can appreciate the value of a quickly executed plan though I'll admit your tactics sometimes make my processor ache."

The saboteur chuckled into his cube of energon and took another deep drought.

"Hey, Kup? 'Breaker and I were wondering if you'd consider assigning him with me tomorrow for patrol. I'm kinda curious to see how his forcefields would stand up against the Swarm." Springer's presence was a sudden downer for Prowl.

"He ain't one of mine so you'll have ta talk to Prowl about that," Kup hemmed and hawed a little. "What do you say, Prowl? That sound good to you?"

"I have no objections." Prowl addressed Kup alone.

Jazz didn't miss the irritation that flashed across Springer's faceplates at the blatant snubbing and just cycled air through his vents in an exasperated sigh.

"I'll help ya draw up the watch schedule then." Kup climbed to his feet and was once more amazed to feel no familiar creaking or aches in his joints. "Gotta say, I'm impressed with this new chassis ya'll set me up with, Prowl."

Prowl smiled briefly. "I'm pleased to hear that. This time, I hope you won't be so resistant to the thought of upgrades and the like?"

Standing beside Kup, Springer looked distinctly ill at ease with the conversation. Unlike the old mech, he knew the true extent of the chassis he was now wearing and he didn't like it in the least.

Flexing his arm experimentally, Kup laughed gruffly. "We'll just have to see. Come on, kid."

Springer shot one last lingering glower over his shoulder at Prowl before clapping his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Right, let's go."

The tactician feigned obliviousness to that hostility as Springer and Kup wandered away.

"You two are still feuding?" Jazz grumbled as he shook his head in disgust. "Prowl, man, you need to let it go."

"I beg your pardon?" Ice was warmer than Prowl's tone.

"You and Springer, jus' let it go." The saboteur's faceplates were set in uncharacteristically grim lines. "Yer both grown mechs and this is just gettin' ridiculous."

Prowl's optics narrowed fractionally. "And I'm sure you're going to tell me he's this amazing mech and I'm being too hard on him." It kind of stung; the thought of Jazz climbing into Springer's corner like he was doing.

"Nah, Springer's alright. I can see why he'd rub you all th' wrong way."

That mollified the tactician a little. His doors relaxed fractionally and lowered as Prowl relaxed slightly.

"You and me, we're friends right?" Jazz asked suddenly. As always, trying to follow Jazz's convoluted thought processes and meandering conversation hurt Prowl's processor as his battle computer went wild.

How the frag could the mech go from chiding him about Springer to talking about friendship?

Not for the first time, Prowl wished Jazz would just follow a more logical and straightforward way of holding a conversation.

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that though we've never had to define our relationship in such terms before."

"Relax, Prowl," Jazz chuckled quietly. "Not like I'm askin' ya on a date, I'm just saying, we're buddies. We've gotten close over the course of this war, right?"

"Correct..." Prowl conceded carefully; unsure as to where Jazz was going with the vein of conversation.

"So tell me why ya don't like Springer?"

That actually earned Jazz a mildly incredulous look.

"You want a list?" Prowl asked a trifle sarcastically.

"Sure! Lay it on me." Jazz took another swig from his cube and leaned back in his chair; the picture of lazy contentment.

"Fine, he's undisciplined, refuses to follow orders, runs off half-cocked and risks both the mission and the mechs with him. And he seems to think he knows better than the rest of us when it comes to command decisions."

Jazz actually laughed outright at Prowl's list of grievances against the Wrecker.

"I'm so glad I amuse you," the tactician said acidly.

"Hahaha, sorry, Prowl." Jazz did his best to school his demeanor into something a little more serious. "Seriously, sorry. It's just…"

The saboteur chucked quietly. "You realize all those character flaws you've just listed apply to me as well right?"

Prowl looked less than amused.

"I mean it, I'm guilty of all of that yet we're still friends. So you wanna tell me the real reason ya don't like Springer."

"I'm beginning to have doubts as to this whole 'friendship' thing now," the tactician said primly which only sent Jazz off into another fit of chuckles.

"Ya just gotta relax, Prowl. He's not going to succeed in pushing your buttons as much if you refuse to rise to the bait." Jazz clapped his hand affectionately on the other mech's shoulder. "And who knows, if you stop beating yer heads together, you might even find out the other ain't th' Pit incarnate."

"You've always been more optimistic than me, Jazz."

"I surrender, I surrender!" Jazz laughed, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You win, Prowl, the energon cube is half-empty."

He grew a little more serious however. "Look, you are your own worst enemy, Prowl." The Spec Ops agent pinned Prowl with a hard look. "And I don't like seeing the dynamic of the team thrown off just cuz you and Springer enjoy being afts to one another."

That barb had Prowl's doors sweeping up in outrage. "You're crossing the line, Jazz," he growled warningly.

"I'm sayin' it as your friend, not your subordinate. I can take a hint though, I'll let it go. Just do me a favor an' think about it?"

"Fine, I will take it under advisement," Prowl said stiffly.

"Thanks, now I don't know about you but I think we can bribe another few cubes of energon outta Kup. So what do you say?"

The tactician glanced down at his energon quietly before offering Jazz a small smile. "I'm sure we can think of something."

* * *

><p>Prowl came back online with a seemingly impenetrable fog coating his processor. It was only belatedly that he remembered why he so rarely overindulged on energon.<p>

You felt like slag the next day.

The tactician valiantly fought back a groan as he shifted slightly on the berth but there was an almost painful pressure on his doors that was steadily dragging him back online. A frown twisted Prowl's faceplates as the pain registered.

Shifting some more, he sleepily pushed back against the weight pressing down on his right door. It was perhaps a testament to just how out of it he was that the normally sharp Prowl didn't immediately seize upon the fact that the weight wasn't the solid flat metal of the wall that abutted his berth.

Instead, the solid form behind him was contoured and sharply edged. Grumpily, he pushed back again.

That was when the arm slung over his waist tightened fractionally and Prowl realized he wasn't shoving up against the wall.

The series of thoughts and scenarios that flashed through his battle computer were less sluggish though all the more troubling. He quickly came to conclusion that he was obviously curled up in the berth with a yet unknown mech.

That he could accept phlegmatically enough.

He also knew that pretending the situation wasn't happening wasn't going to undo reality so Prowl powered up his optics so he could get a good look at the mech currently draping himself across his prone body.

Prowl's first glimpse the arm wrapping possessively around him was that it was a garishly green color. That certainly had him thrown for a mental loop. Who the frag did he know with a green paint job?

Hound? Surely not, the scout and he had barely exchanged more than two words since coming to Cybertron. Besides, the color was wrong.

Cosmos? The thought hurt Prowl's processor just thinking about it.

Brawl? No, that was utterly ridiculous.

With a decidedly sinking feeling, Prowl twisted slightly so he could get a better look. That was when an all too familiar crest painted that same garish color.

Dread curled about Prowl's spark as he finally careened his head around to catch sight of the mech sharing the berth with him.

Disbelieving his own optics, Prowl cycled them quickly but when the display came back online, it was still Springer's faceplates mere inches from his.

"You have got to be kidding me…" Prowl muttered; voice husky and a bit hoarse.

Though he'd whispered the words quietly enough, the noise was enough to rouse the sleepy Wrecker a little bit.

Springer murmured wordlessly and snuggled down until he was nuzzling at the joints of Prowl's door. The suddenly pleasant sensation of the Wrecker's mouth and cheek caressing that shockingly erogenous zone almost had Prowl falling off the berth.

The damned Wrecker just pulled him closer and Prowl made an inarticulate sound.

Springer's hand lazily glided along Prowl's hood as the triplechanger came back online slowly. He wasn't the type of mech to complain about waking up in some strange mech's berth.

Smiling slightly, the Wrecker powered up his optics so he could get a gander at his latest berthmate. Nice back, doors that looked kind of familiar from behind. They looked a lot like Silverstreak's now that he though about it.

He idly wondered if that was the mech he'd picked up last night. Things were all a little…hazy. Springer doubted it was Silverstreak however. He could tell the mech was awake and if had been Silverstreak, the mech would have been talking a mile a minute.

Smokescreen? Well, that was certainly a possibility though Springer couldn't remember seeing him amongst the Autobots last night. He and Smokey had always gotten on well so Springer could easily see him and the divisionary tactician falling into the berth.

Unfortunately, all this thinking was starting to make his processor ache so instead, Springer pulled away from those tempting doors and smiled sleepily at the other mech.

"Morning beaut-" He trailed off in shock.

"Let. Go. Of. Me."

Springer just stared dumbly at a rather ticked-off looking Prowl.


End file.
